


An (almost) ordinary morning

by Dominatrix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humour, OTP forever, Poor John I'm glad he didn't hear anything, They had dinner sooo bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could have been an ordinary morning. But when has a morning with Sherlock Holmes ever been ordinary?</p>
            </blockquote>





	An (almost) ordinary morning

John enjoyed the silence. It wasn’t too late in the morning. It was peaceful. Well, they were in the middle of a…strange case that doubtlessly demanded things from Sherlock that the Consulting Detective had probably never even thought about: Desire, fascination for another person – another woman – and maybe something like amorousness. John refused to use the word love in connection with Sherlock. It was just too absurd. Love was not Sherlock’s area.

“Sherlock! Get up! I made breakfast!“ They had arranged themselves. John made breakfast, did the shopping, and Sherlock…What did Sherlock actually do? Well, he took care of the unsolved crimes in London. But with did Sherlock do apart from carrying out experiments with corpses that were highly doubtful on an ethical level – John thought of the thing with the riding crop – and lying on the couch motionlessly? Apart from waking him at 3 a.m. because he was playing the violin and regularly setting something in the flat on fire?

“Good morning, John.” John, who had dedicated himself to the newspaper till now, looked up surprised.  Not only that Sherlock sounded a lot more cheerful and frisky – usually John could be glad when he got a single word from Sherlock before he had drank his first cup of coffee. No, what really surprised him was the fact that two voices had greeted him.

One of them was cool, matter-of-fact, the voice of Sherlock, unmistakable. But the second one…Feminine, velvety, almost purring. Instinctively John sprang to his feet and fixated the woman that stood opposite him.

 

"Good lord. You?”

“John, you really don’t have to get up when I enter the room. I’m here as a guest.“

“Oh…oh well” John replied, completely perplex. He felt as if a wagon train had hit him.

Seeing Sherlock smile was not easy to handle. But Irene Adler, dressed in Sherlock’s blue dressing gown, standing very close to him…It was a little too much for this time of day.

“Be insured that I don’t…treat every guest like that” Sherlock muttered in her ear so low that John couldn’t hear it. She slapped his forearm playfully.

“Now act your age and let us eat something.”

 

The awkward silence that followed had a perfect reason. Several times Irene tried to start a conversation, but John only replied in rather taciturn ways – if he answered at all.

“By the way: What’s that thing on your neck?” he asked Sherlock. The Consulting Detective ran his hand about the four, closely together red welts that got lost in the collar of his red dressing gown.

Irene beside him started to look anywhere but in John’s direction before she cleared her throat quietly and said something that sounded like “Wait till you see his back.” John decided not to ask more questions, and he was very relieved when Irene changed the topic.

“Were you able to sleep last night, John?” she asked, while she took a sip of her coffee and winked at Sherlock inconspicuously.

“Yea, thanks.”

Really?” she dug deeper in astonishment.

„Really. Why?“ He got a little suspicious.

„I wouldn’t have thought that you are able to sleep when there’s so much noise.“

„What noise, I…Oh.“ He got it. At the latest when Irene peeked at Sherlock, short and insinuating, and he pulled up an eyebrow with a little smile, - before he put a hand on her thigh – John got it. He knew this smile. It meant: Oh if you only knew.

John had it seen quite often when he had asked Sherlock aghast what he was about to do with the head in the fridge. He could imagine pretty well that he looked similar agitated as back then when the head had rolled towards him when he had first opened the fridge.

 

Irene whispered something in Sherlock’s ear that John didn’t hear. Sherlock’s reaction was utterly strange: He first choked on his coffee before he answered very inconspicuous, again too low for John to hear a single word. After all…Maybe it was quite good.

“John, I’m sorry. We have to leave you behind alone. Sherlock and I have some…unfinished business.” The way she said it and the way her eyes sparkled made John bode ill.

Almost too hasty they both left the table and closed the door to Sherlock’s room behind them. John sat at the table for a moment, petrified, while jam dripped from the toast in his hand in his lap.

Just when he heard a loud sound – like a heavy piece of furniture that got knocked over – he awoke from his numbness. Without thinking too much he grabbed his keys and fled from the flat.

 

He left the breakfast on the table. Probably Sherlock and Irene would be very exhausted and hungry if they ever left the room again.


End file.
